The road to re-loving Taylor Swift
(Courtesy of Saachi Gupta)
20-year-old Indian student Saachi Gupta writes about how her relationship with the pop superstar helped her learn to reject internalised misogyny.
I was 12 when I first found Taylor Swift's “Love Story.” The song had already been out for four years, but romance (and English music) had never been particularly important in my life up until that point. Now that I had begun to watch cheesy rom-coms and fall in love with a young Leonardo DiCaprio for the first time, a song about a modern-day Romeo asking me to marry him was exactly the kind of music I wanted. It wasn't long before Taylor Swift became an obsession, and I began to spend hours listening to her songs every night on YouTube. From the naivety of “White Horse” to the conviction of “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” every song was perfect for screaming along to in the shower or crying dramatically to as I fell asleep.
It was around the same time that I started reading the “Twilight Saga.” As someone who had never been in a relationship, it was inevitable that Edward Cullen would become the object of my affection. I introduced the series to my friends, and soon we were all swooning over the romance of being a 100-year-old vampire. During lunch break every day, we'd find ourselves in a corner of the classroom, giggling over Robert Pattinson and arguing over what team we were: Edward or Jacob (I’m team Edward, obviously).
My enjoyment of the Taylors (Swift and Lautner) was short-lived, however. Because it was only a few months later that I started doubting these interests. Society told me that singing about boys and break-ups and reading about love made me “girly,” and that was apparently a bad thing. The hints came from everywhere: from teachers implying that all girls wanted to do was impress boys; from distant relatives dismissing dolls as “silly;” from pop culture, including the lyrics of Taylor Swift's own song “You Belong With Me.” The world made it seem like girls with feminine interests were shallow, foolish and immature. These were the kinds of girls that didn’t have ambition or intelligence.
“The hints came from everywhere: from teachers implying that all girls wanted to do was impress boys; from distant relatives dismissing dolls as ‘silly;’ from pop culture, including the lyrics of Taylor Swift’s own song ‘You Belong With Me.’ The world made it seem like girls with feminine interests were shallow, foolish and immature.”
Even though I still adored Taylor Swift, the stereotypes of girls who liked her music made me feel like I had to be a fan in secret. I bought her hit album “1989” without telling any friends and hid it in the back of my cupboard to listen to by myself. I was ashamed of the fact that I would probably still enjoy the “Twilight Saga” if I read it again and would still have a crush on Edward Cullen (despite his toxicity). I gave away my “Twilight” books, claiming I had outgrown them — that I had moved on to reading more intellectual books.
Misogyny — prejudice against girls and women — has been a part of the fabric of society for many centuries. It’s almost impossible for girls not to internalise some of this hatred, especially when popular culture often looks down on traditional trappings of femininity. Female protagonists in films like “Another Cinderella Story” — where Selena Gomez only cares about her passion for dance while her evil stepsisters constantly fret over how they look and obsess over boys — and “Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani” — where Deepika Padukone's character wears glasses and T-shirts to make it clear that she is the “nerd” — are portrayed as “different from other girls,” which makes them more desirable. Movies tell us that in order to succeed as a girl or woman, we need to not be like what is conventionally feminine. These stereotypes not only pit women against each other but reinforce the notion that femininity is to be avoided at all costs. The problem, ultimately, lies in the fact that society still believes that being a woman makes you lesser.
(Courtesy of Saachi Gupta)
The result is internalised misogyny that manifests itself throughout our lives. Girls like me fall victim to this, feeling the need to distance ourselves from other girls and femininity as a whole. Women second guess every action they take, just to be taken seriously. Am I being too bossy or too accommodating? Can I wear pink and still be taken seriously as a leader? Can I admit to wanting a family one day or not wanting one at all? Women in positions of power like Taylor Swift face attacks if they don't align with society’s expectations of what constitutes a good female role model, criticism their male counterparts don’t have to deal with.
Over the last few years, social media has educated me on feminism and internalised misogyny. I have found a safe space to express myself on the internet and with friends and family. During an exchange program in Mexico, I met amazing women who love all of the things I once dismissed as too girly. This experience helped me rediscover my love for Taylor Swift's music and decide that while the “Twilight Saga” is not perfect, it wasn't as bad as it was made out to be.
“I came to the realisation that maybe liking these things makes me like other girls — and what is the problem in that?”
I came to the realisation that maybe liking these things makes me like other girls — and what is the problem in that? Because the other girls I know are brilliant: They wear high heels and pink dresses and still care about politics. They watch rom-coms, but still argue over feminism, LGBTQ+ rights and immigration policies. They talk about finding love for hours on the phone, but still have career ambitions and incredible goals. Why do any of these things have to be mutually exclusive?
In her 2020 documentary, “Miss Americana,” Taylor Swift said, “I want to love glitter and also stand up for the double standards that exist in our society. I want to wear pink, and tell you how I feel about politics. I don’t think those things have to cancel each other out.” It was a full-circle moment, watching my childhood idol — my guilty pleasure — address the exact emotions I had felt for so long, take a step back, and say out loud: “Maybe I am like other girls. And what about it?”
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